


Brighton Summer

by greygerbil



Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Characters Consider Themselves Married Even if in the Eyes of the Law They're Not, Falling In Love, M/M, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-07 22:58:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19859413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: After the seduction of Miss Darcy didn't go quite as planned, George Wickham turns his charms back on Charles Bingley, who already thinks them husbands. A trip to Brighton is supposed to get George back on Bingley's good side before his new friend Darcy can tell him the truth about his lover. However, things don't go quite as planned.





	Brighton Summer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nabielka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nabielka/gifts).



“You must meet Darcy sometime. He’ll be back in London soon. I’m sure he would like you.”

George sipped his tea, hiding the flash of discomfort that he feared tugged at the corners of his mouth behind the rim of the cup.

“It’s not like you could introduce me as your husband,” he told Bingley, who was sitting across the table in the spacious hotel room, when he had reined his expression in. “If he cares for you as you say and by some miracle would not turn away in disgust, then he would probably try to talk you out of any relationship with a man. It’d be much more comfortable for you to rid yourself of me and get a wife, after all.”

His husband – that was what Bingley called himself. George had thought it quite sweet and of course entirely inconsequential when his lover had first proposed to him. Bingley was a bright and personable man, easily captured, as George had found out himself when he had wrapped him tightly around his finger while hardly trying, and, he’d figured, just as easily stolen away.

Were George a woman, it wouldn’t matter. Bingley’s considerable fortune would still be at his disposal even if his husband found himself in other beds. Sure, by rights perhaps Bingley could have kept his wife on a pauper’s budget, but decorum and fear of public censure would forbid it for a man who liked company so much, not to mention Bingley’s mild nature. But being a man’s husband was idle child’s play, in the end. When Bingley would inevitably set him aside, he’d have nowhere to turn for sympathy.

Thus, when Darcy had refused him the living he’d been promised, George had figured he would have to find a more steady source of income than Bingley’s good-naturedness, which might fail or be redirected at any moment. It was not that he did not like him. Bingley was friendly and generous and saw the best in people and when George had told him he would have to leave for a while to think about this relationship, he had been sure that Bingley’s heart had broken. Still, it hadn’t changed the circumstances.

Georgiana had seemed to be the answer to all his questions. Not only would she provide him with a comfortable income, marrying her would also allow him to slip a blade between Darcy’s ribs in the same move as he secured his future. However, Darcy’s consistently overbearing nature had proved to be too much to make such a scheme work – of course he had shown up and wrenched the truth out of his sister – and so Wickham had been forced to retreat.

He had been entirely prepared to find Bingley in the arms of another man or woman by the time he had returned to London, but to his surprise, he had heard no rumours of the sort from his acquaintances and had thus dared the journey to Bingley’s hotel, where he was currently staying until his sisters would join him. Although Bingley had been angry with George for the first time since he had known him after being left alone for so long, some kisses and proclamations that the separation had only assured him of his undying affection for Bingley were all it took to soothe him. George had asked Bingley if there had been others, too, knowing he was not a good enough liar to deny it if it were so, but Bingley had proclaimed himself faithful to his husband. This had opened up a new door for George. It seemed, impossibly, that this ‘marriage’ could work, with this unexpected bit of consistency discovered in Bingley’s temperament.

Then, some days after his return, when he’d just warmed up to the idea, Bingley had told George about his new friend for the first time, the one who’d so graciously helped him out with a bit of trouble relating to an old company of his father’s while George was away, and who’d become a close companion since then: Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Now Bingley looked at George across the table with a smile.

“Of course I won’t tell him that! But it wouldn’t be strange to introduce Darcy to a good friend of mine.”

No, it would not be, of course, and it was clear Bingley would not stop going on about it on his own. He’d been excited to introduce George since he’d first spoken of Darcy.

“Soon,” George said. “But I’d rather get out of town with you for a bit right now. I well know it’s my fault, but we have spent so little time together over the last few months. I don’t want to share you with anyone else, not even this Mr Darcy, no matter how agreeable he is.”

As he’d hoped, Bingley looked pleased.

“Well, summer is getting on. My sisters wanted to go to Brighton or Weymouth before it is out – anywhere along the coast would be fine. We could easily make expeditions on horseback without being terribly missed and enjoy some time to ourselves. You can still meet Darcy when we return, I suppose.”

Right now was not the moment to tell Bingley even a lighter version of what had happened between him and Darcy, George decided. He had to make sure to have him on his side first. His one advantage was that Darcy would likely not wish to dishonour Georgiana by disclosing the particular details of George’s conduct to anyone – he was much too proud for that. Still, Darcy could be damned convincing and George had only just left Bingley behind. Even as soft as he was, that must have created some cracks in the foundation of Bingley’s trust for him, ones Darcy would know to find and use.

No, George wasn’t going to lose another chance like this to Darcy, who seemed put on earth mainly to plague him.

“What a capital idea. Let’s go to the sea!” George said, grabbing Bingley’s hand over the table.

-

They decided for Brighton and travelled with Bingley’s sisters and brother-in-law, who came down from the north and picked them up in London. Mr Hurst was a tiresome man who only wanted to play cards and eat, but at least that made him easily placated and he dozed in the carriage for most of the journey. Bingley’s sisters chattered as much as him and had similar moments of empty-headedness, but their more cunning natures lacked the innocence of Bingley’s temper that made one go easy on his defects. George could acknowledge that Caroline Bingley had her priorities in order, though. When he had first met the family, he had considered trying to charm Caroline, for she had a very agreeable fortune to her name, too. Caroline, however, had entirely lost her interest in him when she had heard of his situation, in the resolute way that George had, after much experience courting, long known he could do nothing about. Had Charles been a sister of hers, she’d no doubt have chased George off, but as a charming friend of her brother’s, he could be no danger and was considered an agreeable bit of entertainment.

While George took care to be liked by Bingley’s sisters, since he knew he loved them both, he was mostly focused on Bingley. For the first time in his life, he turned his attentions on a man in the same way that he might have on a woman. Before, he’d gotten into Bingley’s good graces as a friend, and after a long night with too much wine, a casual lover. Bingley had fallen for George’s habitually gentle words and as they met between the sheets, while George’s real attention had already been elsewhere.

He would not leave things to chance like this anymore. Frequently, he asked Bingley to ride with him so they could be alone, professing he enjoyed his company above all others. At every gathering they found themselves in Brighton, George would be by Bingley’s side, never pressing too hard, but hovering always ready to engage him in conversation with a quick remark or jest. They smiled at each other when they danced in the set, just fleeting glances, but those could make Bingley red-faced. When any girl’s mother or older sister got a bit too insistent, George would provide a distraction to free him, playfully jealous in a way that he knew would be flattering.

“It’s too bad I can’t officially walk you to the altar, perhaps all the pretty girls would keep off you, then,” he joked, one pleasantly warm, windless evening, when they had decided to quit an engagement a bit earlier and walked back to the house Bingley had rented, leaving the carriage for Mr Hurst and Bingley’s sisters. “But maybe the temptation would still be too great.”

“Just as many pretty girls like you!” Bingley answered, laughing. “And you don’t have money to recommend you, if you don’t mind my saying so. It’s simply the way you speak to people.”

“My words are what you like me for?” Wickham asked.

“Among other things. I really do enjoy going out with you,” Bingley said, looking up at the first pale stars in the darkening sky. “You can make anybody smile.”

George mulled over this for a bit as they walked down the gravel path. Many nice things said to him were really just the results of his own skill reflected back at him. Certainly Bingley also thought him kind, for example, which George knew to be a front for often darker thoughts. But what Bingley had said just now carried no trace of an accidental lie. George quite liked it for a compliment.

Bingley had always been easy to be around, it was why George had picked him out at first. He paid without question, did not demanded anything of George but his company, but also quickly found something to do when left alone at some ball or club, never growing sullen when George neglected him for a bit. As the days in Brighton added up, though, George realised that Bingley had his own charms that went beyond his unassuming character. He was unfailingly affectionate, for one. Like a flower turning to the sun, he would always seek George out again whenever he could. His conversation was pleasant and reasonably clever and George, who was used to putting himself through dreary interactions with outstandingly boring and vexing people to gain some favour or another, was very partial to him for that. This all made drawing Bingley in a task easily handled, as George could apply himself happily.

The carnal aspects of seduction were aided by the fact that the small red-brick building a little out of the greatest press of the town Bingley had chosen was outfitted with balconies that were broad enough they almost connected to each other. At night, George climbed over the wrought iron balustrades unseen and sneaked into Bingley’s room through the open balcony door. Bingley always welcomed him with a grin and was an attentive and impressionable lover.

George was soon sure that with another week or two, Bingley should be entirely in his grasp; but a northern wind they faced when walking a remote part of the coast alone one weekend blew his plans apart. Monday morning, he found himself with his throat raw, his limbs aching, and apparently looking pitiful, for Bingley exclaimed the moment he stepped into the breakfast room.

“Are you alright, Wickham?!”

“Oh, it’s…”

He had wanted to say that he was completely fine, but his voice sounded so much likes stones rubbing together that even Mr Hurst looked up from his sausage and eggs. Bingley got to his feet, all concern.

“I do not think you should be out of bed.”

George tried for a smile.

“Don’t make it seem like I’m dying!” he croaked. “It is just a cold.”

“Maybe, but breakfast can be brought upstairs. There’s no need for you to exert yourself.” Bingley turned around. “Caroline, can you send a footman for a physician?”

George considered protesting, but it was probably useless. As Bingley led him back up the stairs, he felt displeasure rumbling in his chest. He did not at all like being sick, hurt, or obviously unhappy before men and women he was trying to win over. People liked those best who lightened their moods, not piled on more sorrows. George had spent all his spells of illness alone in the last years, as those who took up with the likes of him had little time for invalids, so he knew how it went. However, his head was heavy and his legs faint and he feared there was no choice but going back to bed.

“What do you want to eat?” Bingley asked when he had deposited George back in his room.

“Nothing much, in truth.” He put his hand on Bingley’s cheek. “You can send a servant and go back to your sisters. It’s really nothing.”

“Well, your skin is very warm for someone who is supposedly so healthy!” Bingley answered, putting his hand over George’s. “I’ll fetch you some tea, at least.”

The physician prescribed bitter medicine which a footman brought around midday. Bingley cancelled the tour into town he had meant to go on and left his sisters in the care of his brother-in-law in favour of remaining by George’s side, in case he should take a turn for the worse.

“You needn’t shut yourself up for my sake,” George said, eventually, when Bingley had already been sitting by his bedside for the better part of the afternoon.

He’d chewed the whole day on which strategy to employ and eventually decided that leaving Bingley to run free was smarter. He wouldn’t be bored by Wickham’s presence if he went by himself and if London couldn’t provide him the distractions to entirely forget about George, Brighton was unlikely to manage it.

“Oh, we have been out a lot lately,” Bingley said. “It is nice, don’t you think, to spend a quiet day at home sometimes?”

“I will probably be in this bed for longer than a day,” George noted.

“That doesn’t bother me, either!”

George chuckled, which ended up a cough. He shook his head.

“Come now, Bingley, we are much too similar. Neither of us enjoys being cooped up in the house for days on end. You have the chance to escape, though.”

His words had Bingley laugh. “You know me well, but I can sit still for a little bit, you know? Besides, I wouldn’t be happy out there if I couldn’t be sure how my husband is.” He cocked his head. “Maybe tomorrow, if you are a little recovered, you would like me to read to you?”

The next day, Bingley had picked out a novel from the small collection on a shelf on the upper floor, which was just fine with George. He had gone to Cambridge and hadn’t done too badly, but in truth, he liked stories more than philosophy, especially with his head already pounding. Though he teased Bingley good-naturedly for the choice, listening to him read was diverting, too.

Bingley stayed with him through all five days of his sickness, only downstairs to eat or when George all but chased him away so their relationship would not start looking unusual. They made it through two novels. Bingley brought him his food three times a day. For the first two nights, George woke himself up several times coughing so hard he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t choke on it. Bingley, who slept next door and was alerted by the noise, got up each time and hovered nervously by his side, feeding him water when possible and holding him in his arms. Feverish and exhausted, George leaned into him, then, and hoped Bingley would not get tired of this too soon, but he never did.

The fever broke by Friday, and Sunday had George back at old strength. Bingley cautioned that they should only go out for a light walk yet, though.

“You gave me quite a fright those first couple of days, you know?” he said, as they strolled along the beach on their own that evening.

“The flu doesn’t take young, strong men very often,” George said.

“I know. But my father died from what looked to be a cold at first and he was as healthy as anyone before that. You never know.”

George glanced sideways at Bingley. It was so rarely that he touched on heavier subjects that you could be deceived to think he never considered them. Somehow, it was startling to hear something unexpected from Bingley, whom he thought to have read thoroughly. The look he gave him made Bingley force a smile, which quickly melted into a real one as he brushed George’s hand with his own.

“Well, it all turned out good! No reason to speak of such dark things. Let’s head back for supper soon. Mr Hurst said he had some new recipe for the cook to try.”

“He’d be very disappointed if we missed it, then. We wouldn’t hear the end of it,” George obliged, following Bingley down this easier path of conversation.

The sun drowned orange in the sea to their left, a sight like the prettiest watercolour. They walked in silence for a moment before Bingley, after glancing around to see if they were alone, stopped George with a touch and kissed him. George tugged him closer for a moment. It was nice to feel his warmth against him as they stood, solitary and united.

-

“Who are you writing to?”

George watched with some amusement as Bingley attacked the paper with his pen, leaving a flurry of scrawled words and smudged ink in his wake. The recipient would need patience to figure out all the many thoughts Bingley seemed to want to put down at once.

“Mr Darcy,” he said, looking up. “I’ve neglected it when you were sick.”

The mention of the name came like a slap to his face. He sat up a little from where he had comfortably leaned into Bingley’s side on the sofa.

“Have you been writing to him all this time we were in Brighton?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

Why would he have? Bingley had seemed to absolutely smitten with George, wholly focused on him for company – or was it George who had been too distracted by him to see when Bingley’s thoughts drifted away?

“Yes. He’s a very good correspondent, much better than me. His letters are so orderly.” Bingley laughed. “He always criticises my sloppiness.”

“That’s not a kind thing to do.”

Even the allusion to Darcy’s habitual condescension made George’s blood boil.

“He means well,” Bingley said with a shrug. “Anyway, he does look forward to meeting my friend George who I just ‘can’t seem to stop writing about’ once we are back in London.”

George managed a smile, somehow, and took Bingley’s pen out of his hand.

“You know, you can write when your sisters are back,” he noted. “We should use what time we have alone.”

As usual, Bingley was easily convinced, especially when George threw him down into the soft cushions of the sofa and pushed on top of him, drawing laughter from him as Bingley’s arms wrapped around George’s neck.

All George would have to do, really, to avoid this whole matter entirely, was just not return to London with Bingley. They were in Brighton with hundreds of good families and eligible daughters, or even gentlemen who’d might like some company. George had always been good in following the way the wind blew.

That hadn’t been the plan, though, had it? He was here to harden Bingley’s resolve against Darcy. Had he succeeded? Bingley loved him, but Darcy had kept his foothold, and now when he imagined Bingley repeating whatever Darcy would tell him, full of shock and doubt, the thought stung too hard. However, he found he hated the idea of relinquishing Bingley to Darcy also; hated it not just out of pride, but because he would never again lie with him like this, or dance to music in their heads around the bedroom, or talk about their acquaintances as they ate ice cream sitting in the sun before a sweets shop, or hear Bingley call him his husband. He could have gotten all these things from somebody else, but as he considered that, it seemed a paltry compensation for losing Bingley’s company. No, simply leaving was not an option, but going to London would mean to give Darcy the opportunity to ruin Bingley’s opinion of him and have to watch the entire process.

He may have laughed if it hadn’t been so disastrous to realise that he seemed to have stepped into the very trap he’d laid for Bingley.

At least for as long as Bingley was in his arms, Darcy had no power over him. Bingley had eyes only for George now, staring at him as if he was the entire world. George crashed their mouths together and tried to forget, only for a moment, that they would ever have to leave Brighton.


End file.
